


Madness

by Redhead_Maniac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Minor Character Death, Schizoaffective Disorder, Shared Psychosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redhead_Maniac/pseuds/Redhead_Maniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then, suddenly, "The angels are silent." Dean gives his friend a wary look, prompting him to go on. "I cannot hear them. Not anymore." Asylum!AU. Rated M for disturbing themes, explicit language, possible violence and sexual content. YES, THIS IS DESTIEL. And I am sorry I cannot give away more of the story, you'll just have to hope and read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies if I messed some of the facts up, because I've obviously never been to this specific place (you shall find out).  
> It would be nice to get some feedback, including criticism, or better yet praise. This is my second work for the fandom, in-progress, and English isn't my mother's tongue.

The water trickles down in rivulets over the outer side of the misty window, a tell-tale pitter-patter filling the chilly air of the room. It's bizarre to think that the world outside is bursting at the seams with smells and colours, the rich, dark scent of the moist soil and the screaming, chaotic reds and yellows of the leaves, whilst inside it's anything _but_ colour —a dull white and a slight whiff of the antiseptic from this morning's cleaning.

Two hours have passed since 9 AM, the time Dean got here and walked through the doors, carrying a small brown bag with two meat sandwiches and a small carton of orange juice, which he had to sneak past the security. Like hell was he going to let Cas starve to death, what's with him refusing to eat the crappy hospital food. Still, the angel only managed to consume half of his contraband-meal, and even that was under Dean's pressure. Otherwise he wouldn't eat at all — he didn't need to, really. He didn't know why Dean couldn't grasp that simple concept, but he eventually resigned to entertaining the man. This way, it was less troublesome and ensured peace in the tiny room, at least for a while.

"So, how's your day?" Dean's gruff voice cuts through the silence, green eyes flicking back and forth from the gown-clad man to his unfinished breakfast.

"What do you think, Dean." Comes an unimpressed reply, and the tone implies that Castiel doesn't want to continue with that line of conversation.  
Dean tries anyway.

"Crappy, huh." He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, "I really wish you would eat."

"I did." And Dean doesn't push it any further, leaving the angel's eating habits alone. At least this time he managed to stomach half a bite, and that's a progress already.

"Cas, talk to me, buddy."

The angel ignores him, staring out of the big window at the constantly shifting curtain of water. He looks sullen, the five-o'clock shadow adding to his dirtied look, although Dean knows for sure that Cas has washed last evening.

Days like these are becoming more and more common, and it makes the Winchester worry.

Then, suddenly, "The angels are silent."

Dean gives his friend a wary look, prompting him to go on.

"I cannot hear them. Not anymore."

"Which is..."

"Bad."

"Right." He thinks the opposite, but knows better than to voice his thought.

In the next fifteen minutes Dean manages to wolf down his own sandwich, check his phone for messages and tell Cas about his own morning and the weather broadcast for the next three days.

"So, I should probably go now, but, uh, I will try to come back later, okay? Around seven."

He doesn't think Cas even acknowledges him, but is surprised once more when the angel replies, "I'm worried for my brothers. Something must be wrong."

"I'm sure it's gonna be fine, Cas."

"No. No, I don't think so. I can..feel it. It isn't good, Dean." The angel shifts his focus on the man, and Dean can see his blue eyes charged with electricity, a worried crease forming on his brow. Castiel looks upset, and extremely anxious. "I must do something."

"Hey, ease up, Feathers. Let's wait before jumping to conclusions and doing something you'll come to regret." He stands up from the solitary chair in the room, picking up the plastic wrappers and dumping Cas' leftovers into the same bag they came from.

"Try to have some rest, alright? I will be back in the evening." With that, Dean walks up to the door and makes his exit, shutting it behind him tightly.

He really, really hates this weather —it's doing nothing good for Cas, he's sure.

It's Saturday and the halls are empty,— they will be until noon, when the Center opens for visiting hours— bathed with dim light from between the clouds. Dean walks to the service building, through the courtyard and past the café where a few patients are having brunch. He's happy to be here, despite what the others might think. Like Benny, for example, who keeps going on and on about how unhealthy and depressing it is that Dean chooses to spend his free time at the mental institution, and no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind. Then again, Benny is not very fond of his angel friend, for understandable reasons.

The man sighs, throwing the paper bag into a trash can as he passes, stopping in front of a simple-looking, yet sturdy door. Knocking twice and hearing "Come in" in return, Dean follows through with the invitation, finding himself inside Dr. Flynn's office. Dean finds the doc a pleasant, respectful man, and they've formed a sort-of-a-friendship during Dean's common visits.

"Hello Dean, it's nice to see you," The man smiles, looking up from his stack of papers and offering a firm handshake, which Dean takes. "Everything alright?"

The Winchester plops into a black plushy chair and nods absentmindedly, folding his hands in his lap.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if it's anything serious to report, but.. I feel that I should, you know? Just to be sure."

"What is it exactly you're talking about, Mr. Winchester? I assume it concerns our common friend?"

Dean nods again, "He worries me. This morning, when I came, he was very withdrawn — not that that's unusual —, but he actually said something about the angels." The doctor looks at Dean with piqued interest, shifting slightly forward in his seat, "Go on."

"He said he doesn't hear them. Not anymore."

Dr. Flynn contemplates this statement for a minute, looking up at his visitor.

"This is good news, I would think."

"Yes. Except that now Castiel is overly agitated and feels the need to do something —about the angels, I mean."

"Ah, I see where your concern comes from, then."

"I just want to make sure he's safe, that's all."

The doctor nods, standing up from the chair and fixing the glasses on his nose. "I will have to conduct a session with him on the matter, but I would assume that the agitation is a side-effect of the medication, so for now there is no need to worry, not too much at least." Dr. Flynn gives Dean a slight, warm smile, and then moves out from behind his desk, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, "Thank you, Dean, for your concern. Unfortunately it is not so common for friends and family to visit our patients, especially on a daily bases, and yet you signed up for the programme and keep coming back. I'm sure that Jimmy appreciates that."

Dean's smile is not as bright as he feels it should be, but it's there none the less.

"Yeah, well, it's the least I can do for him, isn't it?" He huffs a bitter laugh and stands up, "I have to go now though. Work, you know. And please Doc, if anything happens don't hesitate to call me, alright?"

Dr. Flynn nods, thinking what a good man Dean Winchester is —signing up for the Peer Group, coming to the Riverview Psychiatric Center almost on a daily basis for the past three months, and all for a man he isn't even connected to —Jimmy Novak, an admitted patient with a schizoaffective disorder.


	2. The meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter written long ago, but I've just re-read it for bugs and fixes.  
> Be mindful that English is not my mother tongue.

_3 months prior_

Today is the day Dean's supposed to join the first meeting of the Peer group, and quite possibly get an assigned patient, if he is deemed compatible with one. He hopes he is. Two weeks of waiting, a very thorough interview and several hours of filling out various papers are now down to this single moment when he walks through the large, clear doors into a spacious, modern-decorated room. It came as a shock the first time he was given a detour of the Center, albeit a pleasant one. No bars on the windows, no cracked walls or the typical bathroom tiles, nothing that would scream "cuckoo lock-down!" at all. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he got the wrong address and stumbled into a high-class dormitory unit.

The first thing he notices is a wide circle of twenty or so chairs arranged in the centre of the room, most of them still unoccupied. Well, he is fifteen minutes early, after all. As he coughs and awkwardly clutches the papers in his hands, making his way into the room, some of the people look up, giving him either a small smile or a curious glance. Dean isn't sure who is who at this point, as none of the members are wearing anything that could be a dead give-away to their person. He was expecting something like hospital gowns, but there are none. Do they even wear them here, or are the patients dressed up specifically for this occasion? Dean feels slightly uncomfortable and out-of-place, though he has no reason to be. He was, after all, one of the cases a few years back —even if not in this particular institution.—Five, to be more specific.

As the Winchester sits onto one of the many empty chairs, he takes a good look at the people around him. So far there are four women and eight men, all of them somewhere between their late twenties and thirties. Dean himself is twenty-six, half a year 'till he hits the next mark

There is one woman which catches his attention with her shockingly bright red hair, scribbling something onto a small notepad and biting the tip of her pencil. Something about her seems off to Dean, so he figures she must be one of the patients. Then again, maybe he's wrong and that's the therapist, but are they even allowed to have such shades of hair? 

And shouldn't they look somewhat more formal? He shakes his head and snorts, catching the attention of the man sitting opposite himself. The man quirks an eyebrow at Dean, and the Winchester feels his breath hitch for a split second before coming back to normal. He is sure he's never seen such a striking shade of blue in anyone's eyes. Or maybe it's just the lighting. Either way, he answers the gaze with a quirk of his own eyebrow, earning a confused stare instead. He's about to say something when the safety-glass doors open and a bunch of people flitter in, the last one in his fifties, wearing a long white overcoat with a charcoal suit underneath. Dean figures this one has to be the therapist, after all.

"Good afternoon everyone," the man's pleasant voice carries over the room, "now, if you would please take a seat."

As everybody does just that, the Winchester glances at the blue-eyed man across him again, finding him rather uninterested in all that's happening, hands clutched tightly in his lap and his messy dark head lowered. The guy must've come here straight out of bed for his hair to stick out at such odd angles.

"My name is Albert Flynn, and I am responsible for the patients admitted into the Peer Programme. You can refer to me as Doctor Flynn from this point on."

There are a few quiet murmurs, but other than that everybody keeps quiet.

"Now, shall we proceed with the introductions? The lovely lady over to my left, we shall start with you, if you don't mind." 

The woman Dr. Flynn refers to immediately straightens up, smiling brightly at the older man. "Please tell us your name, age, occupation and past or present condition. Anything else you might wish to add about yourself is highly encouraged."

The lady nods and starts up, her voice breaking at the beginning, "H-hi. My name's Alice, I'm twenty four and studying to become a lawyer." Alice is slender, with warm hazel eyes which remind Dean of a doe and straight, white hair down to her pointy shoulders. "I was diagnosed with a severe case of OCD at the age of seventeen, but I've been in full remission for the past three years. I also happen to love dogs and enjoy painting, and I've joined this programme to help someone who is going through what I did back then, because I know how hard it gets with no one around who understands you."

Dean can't help but think that this is what AA meetings must feel like. He holds off another snort and quickly covers it up with a cough, missing the name of the next man.

"...thirty one, and I'm a full-time patient at the Center. I'm depressed. As in, majorly. As in, you know, suicidal and all that yadda-yadda. The Doc here thought it would be a good idea for me to connect with someone other than my geranium, although I have no idea what they have against my baby." The man looks irritated and offended, huffing and making the dirty-blond strands of his hair fall into his narrowed eyes. He proceeds to swat them away in annoyance.

They go through six more introductions, two of which are bipolar and PTSD patients. Then a deep, gravely voice says, "My name is Jimmy Novak," Dean doesn't know this yet, but from the moment he hears that voice, his whole life lapses into a change, "and I have a schizoaffective disorder."

Now though, his head snaps up and Dean meets with the blue eyes of one Jimmy Novak, who looks right at him with an unreadable expression on his features. Dean would be creeped out if he wasn't so fascinated with the man's eyes and his harsh baritone.

"I am thirty-three years of age, admitted into the Riverview Center by my wife for an attempted attack on her while under delusions. I, uh, don't have any interests." Jimmy hangs his head and tenses his shoulders, as if he's expecting someone in the room to lash out at him. There is a brief silence, and then the next member carries on with the introduction — that strange redheaded girl, who turns out to be an OCD admitted patient. Her and that Alice girl would fit nicely together, Dean thinks.

Dean is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice when it's his turn to speak, until someone pointedly caught to his left.

He immediately snaps out of it.

"Oh, uh, sorry, got a bit carried away," the Winchester gives an apologetic chuckle. "I'm Dean. You see, I had a... what's that fancy name... Ah!" Enter dramatic pause. "Folie à deux, there we go, with my brother. That's a shared psychotic disorder for those of you who don't know. Hell, why would you, if you aren't diagnosed with it. I sure didn't, until, you know. Anyway, I'm also a part time mechanic and a bartender; twenty-six. I like my car, sunset walks on the beach and frisky women." He grins at the amused stares directed his way, some of them outright mistrustful or repulsed. What, is liking his women frisky a crime now, or do they just hate the car and the sunset parts? Come to think of it, do the patients have sex here, or at all? Dean would guess not. His own times at the ward were pretty much sexless, if you don't count the occasional groping he got from the pretty nurses.

When the whole introduction thing is over, the doc stands up and claps his hands excitedly. "Alright, thank you everyone for the wonderful introductions! Now, if you would like to have a small chat with whomever you find interesting, you have the following ten minutes. After that, please fill in your Peer application and hand it back to me." Dr. Flynn proceeds to hand out small application forms to everyone and goes to stand by the doors, smiling in encouragement and observing the group.

Dean doesn't have to think twice about who piqued his interest. As he stands up and walks up to the frigidly sitting man with blue eyes, he shuffles and licks his lips, finding himself suddenly nervous.

"Hi, Jimmy, was it?"

The man's head snaps up and a small, unsure smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Hi. Yes, and you're Dan, if I'm correct?"

Dean chuckles, "No, Dean, actually. Dean Winchester."

"Ah, my apologies. I am not feeling too well this morning."

"Although it's afternoon?" As a smile creeps into Dean's voice, Jimmy looks slightly flustered and emits a low, short chuckle.

"Yeah, even though it's afternoon. I'm not very good at keeping track of time, to be honest."

"I think I know what you mean, had the same problem back in the days." Dean makes a pause, unconsciously nibbling on his lower lip. "It gets a bit hard when you keep thinking some evil son of a bitch is after you, or when a friggin' garrison of douchebag-angels descends to smite your brother. Total dicks, by the way." He smiles, and Jimmy finds his breath stolen away — there is no way something as small and insignificant as the man's smile can light up the room, is there?

The magnificent feeling aside, Jimmy doesn't miss the words spoken. He looks surprised, and a second later Dean discovers just why.

"So your... delusions, they were also of a religious kind?"

The Winchester licks his lips again, giving a small nod. "Yep. A whole shitload of religious crap." He pauses, skimming Jimmy over in one quick glance. "Yours too, huh?" Well, this is a fancy coincidence.

"Yeah."

"So, um, you mentioned your wife?" Jimmy winces as soon as Dean utters those words, and the latter immediately regrets it.

"Yes, Amelia. She was intent on making me seek professional help a while before the accident, but I was too reluctant. And after the... accident, I didn't have much of a choice. I was admitted into the Center the same night it happened."

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to..."

He is briskly interrupted by Jimmy, "It's quite alright. That's why I'm here, after all." the Novak waves his hand dismissively.

"Why did you apply for the Peer Programme anyway?" Jimmy knows an awkward topic change when he sees one, so he decides to entertain Dean.

"I didn't. My therapist thought it would be the most beneficial for my recovery. I, well... I don't get many visitors," his brow creases with a frown, " None, actually."

"What?"

The man looks at Dean like he's the one gone bonkers.

"It was decided that it is for the best if Amelia and I don't interact for a while. And before you ask, yes, it was both mine and hers decision, not just one-sided. As for your previous question, my therapist proposed I join, and I had no objections."

Dean takes in the new information with a slight frown, asking, "You chose to be," He gestures wildly with his hands, trying to find the right words until he does so, "separated? From your wife?"

Jimmy finds his reaction amusing, regarding the man with a carefully constructed mask of patience. "It was for the best, after what happened."

"Right. I guess that's reasonable."

Jimmy chuckles and Dean finds himself feeling rather awkward, and he _doesn't do_ awkward.

"My I ask something?" The question catches Dean off-guard.

"Yeah, shoot man."

"Why did you pick me?" Jimmy has a subtle smile playing across his lips, and those damn blue eyes of his friggin' sparkle with something Dean places as amusement. It better not be at his damn expense.

"That obvious, huh?"

The dark-haired man snorts, "Kind of."

"Well, you see, not many other religious people here," He smirks, "at least not as religious as you and I, ey?"

Jimmy Novak laughs outright, throwing his head back in mirth and attracting the attention of his co-groupers. Some look shocked, some worried, and the Doc squints at the pair, briefly noting something down in his notebook.

It's seconds before he walks over to the centre of the room and looks ready to gather everyone's attention.

Dean hesitates.

"Look, I think the ten minutes are up, so... I hope to see you again?" The way he says it implies that it's not an empty sentiment, but a genuine wish.

"Sure." Novak's subtle smile is all the confidence boost Dean needs as he flashes a toothy grin of his own and briskly walks —almost jogs, really, — in the general direction of the booming voice, "Alright everyone, thanks you for coming, please proceed to hand me your filled out forms and then you can be on your way!"

  


"So, Jimmy, I couldn't help but notice that you decided to converse with that lovely young man earlier?"

"I did not decide such a thing. It was _he_ who came over to _me_."

"Ah, but you didn't have to reply and hold a proper conversation with him, did you? Therefore, technically speaking, you _did_ decide to speak with him."

"Fine. I did decide to engage in the conversation."

"And why is that?"

"He was insistent." A brief hesitation, "And entertaining."

"Was he?" The Doc seems amused.

"Yes, I believe he was. He's also shared personal information."

"But isn't that what everyone else did?"

"No, he shared more. About his past condition, the delusions."

"Hmm, interesting. It's always nice when they are so open, isn't it?" Dr. Flynn shakes his head and puts a hand on Jimmy's tense shoulder. The man never seems to relax as it gets closer to his next episode. The Doc notes this and makes an inviting gesture for him to get up. "Did you like him, then?"

This time it takes a while for Jimmy to reply, Albert can almost see the cogwheels turning behind blue eyes.

"Yes, I believe I did. He seems like an honest man, and he doesn't look at me like I'm a freak parade. Though he did stare. A bit."

The therapist laughs and pats Jimmy on the back. Maybe this Dean guy is just what his patient needs.


End file.
